


But Keep the Old

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Phone Calls & Telephones, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-25
Updated: 2014-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-16 23:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1365730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sambby anon said: "Bobby threatening to beat up boys that hurt college Sammy's feelings <3"</p><p>Sam still has one connection to his former life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Keep the Old

He swallows and tightens his grip reflexively on the phone, then loosens his grip again, glancing back toward the closed motel door. "So you think I should?"

"There's a reason they accepted you, right?" Sam can hear something or other rattling around in a jar, can hear Bobby cut up some plant or body part he's not quite sure he wants to know about. 

"But...you know Dad."

"I know John. Who's life is it? Not his."

Sam sighs. 

After the rhythmic sound of more chopping, Bobby says, "Hey, I could always beat him up for ya." 

Sam snorts, imagines it because he's seen them get in each other's space over Sam and Dean's lives before, and over dumber things too. "Like you need a reason to do that," he points out.

"You need to get out of this life," Bobby says seriously, too seriously, and Sam glances back at the closed door to the motel again.

***

Everything's new. He's already grown up about three years it feels like in the two weeks he's been in California. 

Tyson Brady's been a god-send, though. People just call him Brady. He's sweet, but not in a weird way. Funny, but not in a gross way. Smart, but not in a way that means he has to rub it in anyone's face. He's doing pre-law too, for now anyway, since he's not sure he wants to follow in his father's footsteps, and Sam understands.

"Bobby?" he asks cautiously, almost feeling like the world might have changed profoundly outside of campus too. Maybe the number will be disconnected. Maybe it's to an animal shelter. Maybe Bobby's dead and some other hunter is taking over Bobby's house and his phones, including the spot in the edge of the table where Sam carved his initials, including the mug with the cow on it Sam liked to use since before he knew about hunting.

"Sam!" No one else says "Sam" the way Bobby says it, like it's worth saying nicely, like it's hard to say it in conjunction with a criticism, with a cut-down. "How's things?"

"Uh." Sam blinks. "I like my roommate," he shares. "Anyway, uh...can you do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Can you tell me about some hunts?"

***

"And that's about the time she stabbed him. Turns out, bartender's blessing worked just as well."

"Oh my god," Sam laughs, and he relaxes in the waves of cool air from the small fan and in the familiar sound of Bobby's voice.

"I almost shot your dad."

"What?!" Sam sits up. "Hunting?"

"Yeah. Kind of."

"Kind of? Is he okay?" Sam's mind races with images of injuries, of his father needing stitches, needing splints and bandages. There were times where he'd actually needed professional help and Sam remembers the stark white, the unnaturally-clean-when-compared-to-a-motel-room, the uncertainty of walls filled with death and normalcy, his father lying about how he got where he was, always such a liar, such a fucking liar.

"Smug as ever. Hope I scared him a little. He was saying you betrayed him and that he said to stay gone, can you believe it? I asked how you were, and he fed me that crock of shit. He says he don't care, but he does, Sam. Doesn't care as much as he  _should_ , but he wishes he hadn't...."

"Yeah," Sam says, and doesn't believe it. After all, Bobby is the man who'd told Sam it would be worthwhile to give an amulet to his father for protection, even while knowing about the world his father had kept locked up in that journal, even while having a father who he'd told Sam had been hard to please too. 

"Thanks, Bobby," Sam finally says, clarifying, "for being in my corner."

***

Tyson Brady's lost all of a sudden, and also a dick, but he's still Sam's friend and Sam knows dickishness usually passes after a while of persistent trust-building. At least, that's what happens in books. That's what happens in movies. 

There's no movie for this. Well, if there is, Sam hasn't seen it. Or read about it. 

He'd thought maybe they'd had something, a future. He had no dad or Dean to piss off, so what did he care what people would think if they ended up coming out, if they'd ended up even getting married someday?

He'd been naive, of course. College was a time for experimentation. That was all it had been, he reminds himself as he fiddles with the lyrics booklet from the CD Brady bought him and bites his lip.

He gets a call. 

Part of him still wishes it'll be Dad, or maybe Pastor Jim. Pastor Jim doesn't have Sam's number, though, and John consistently refuses to call Sam despite Bobby asking from time to time. They always did clash like that. 

It's Bobby, of course. But it's still relaxing, still nice to hear his voice. 

"How's this 'thing' you started going?" Bobby asks, because of course he would, of course anyone would, even though Sam had only been so vague as to mention a 'thing' and not even the gender of the person in question.

"It was Brady," Sam blurts out. Bobby's dead silent. 

Sam screws up his eyes, presses at them with his thumb and first finger. "Fuck you," Sam says finally when he can't take the words back but really, really wants to.

Bobby recovers. "Guess this ain't one you can really talk to him about, then. Or any of the other guys out there, huh? Or Becky."

"Not really," Sam says with a sigh of relief cause Bobby gets he's all Sam has, giving his eyes another rub for good measure. "No, not really. He's not even...not even acting like an adult, Bobby. It fucking sucks. I'd thought maybe...but, no. Maybe he just used me. Maybe things are... _weird_  between us now. Maybe  _he's_  just weird."

"Is he?"

"He's on drugs now. I don't know. They're turning him into an asshole."

"I'm sorry, kid," Bobby says.

They're silent as Sam tries not to remember the way Brady used to listen to him, the way he used to have time for him, used to thumb through his hair and kiss his beauty mark and used to sneak into his bed when Sam had a late morning the next day.

"I'll beat him up for you," Bobby says.

Sam laughs through the thickness in his throat, in his ears and shoulders, through the cloud of his tears. 

"Okay," Sam says.


End file.
